


the best of speculations at the end of the night

by twistedingenue



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Not Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Compliant, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 22:40:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedingenue/pseuds/twistedingenue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Aren't you supposed to be dead?" Phil racks his memory for that voice, remembers dry dust and Norse gods. He does not recall that Darcy would attend a place like this. He begins to slide that into his assessment of her.</p><p>"Rumors and speculation," he answers. Darcy sits at the stool next to him, her skirt just above good taste, skims the bottom of the seat. She has pretty knees. Also the part above her knees. "Slander and lies."</p>
            </blockquote>





	the best of speculations at the end of the night

**Author's Note:**

> not agents of SHIELD compliant, mostly because I haven't seen much of it yet. Thank you to daroos and birdie for beta-ing.

He'd call it a good night if he was just able to sip whiskey from the bar and watch so many pretty little things parade through. It's not his typical sort of haunt on nights like these -- nowhere to go and play, but coming into an unfamiliar city he's going to take what he can find. And this bar is well-lit and well attended. He's watching for patterns; figuring out what each person would like. It's a far more fun version of his day job, and he's very seldom wrong.

"Aren't you supposed to be dead?" Phil racks his memory for that voice, remembers dry dust and Norse gods. He does not recall that Darcy would attend a place like this. He begins to slide that into his assessment of her.

"Rumors and speculation," he answers. Darcy sits at the stool next to him, her skirt just above good taste, skims the bottom of the seat. She has pretty knees. Also the part above her knees. "Slander and lies."

"I suppose that uh, this is top secret and very hush hush?" She leans over to the bartender, orders something obnoxiously fruity.  She turns her head to Phil ducking with something that's almost shyness, but also more assessing.

"I would appreciate it if you'd keep it quiet, yes."

 "Don't worry; I'm very good at keeping things quiet." And that's true. There were no leaks from the research team about New Mexico. She leans into his space. "Very good."  She raises her eyebrows. He should have realized that Darcy would not be a subtle flirt.

 Her drink arrives, and she nurses it a little as they chat. He's been more than a little desperate for news that doesn't make the official report, and Darcy is a treasure trove for details. She's unassuming in that world and soaks everything up and she keeps moving closer and closer to him until they are nearly sharing the same stool.

 Phil does what he does best; he analyses the situation. Beautiful woman, who is slowly becoming bold towards him, and who hasn't looked at any of the other posturing, overt men in the bar since she sat down.

 He takes the risk and runs his hand up her bare leg, his fingertips dancing at the edge of her skirt. When she doesn't back off -- doesn't tell him that he has the wrong idea -- he closes the gap between them and takes her lips with his.

 "I'm not calling you daddy," Darcy says when they break for air and decency.

 "I'd really rather you call me sir."

 “This is the part where I’d usually get a guy’s full name and run to the bathroom and google them, but I’m pretty sure that 1) Nothing but an obituary is going to come up and 2) I have a whole lot of leverage in this situation if you do something out of line.” Darcy raises her eyebrows at Phil’s quiet mirth. “You aren’t supposed to be alive right now, I know a whole slew of people that would be interested in that information. And if they don’t know, someone doesn’t want them to know.”

 “We’ve corrupted you,” Phil teases, settling up his tab.

 “I was already corrupted,” she corrects and hops off the barstool, gathering her bag and finishing a text message. “You got a place? Mine has roommates.”

 ***

Phil, indeed has a place, or at least can he can find one that won’t insult either of their standards. Darcy laid down her hard lines and her enthusiastic desires in the ride over, nothing that causes any sort of dampener on him. He’s extraordinarily lucky to be going back somewhere at all with her. He’s not two steps into the hotel room before he starts transitioning himself from the bumbling persona he used at the check-in counter to what Darcy left unsaid, the type of person he needs to be for the night.

 He catches her arms behind her back with one hand, pulls her against him by the hip with the other. It takes her by surprise and she makes a little noise before she leans her head back to rest, dependent on him for her comfort. She’s told him what lines not to cross. “What do you need tonight?” He digs his fingers into her hip more, the tips finding yielding flesh past the hard bone.

 “A good hard fuck, sir,” she replies affecting an easy-going tone at odds with the tenseness in her body and the pull of her shoulders.

 “Is that what you need or what you want, Miss Lewis?”

 She jolts at her own name, her ass tensing against him. He slides his hand over the smooth, thin fabric of her skirt. “Can’t it be both, sir?” Darcy tilts her head from side to side, her hair  skimming across his shoulder and the barest touch of skin brushes along his bare neck.

 Phil drops her wrists to turn her around, and Darcy looks up at him through hooded eyes and dark eyelashes, her warm breath heavy and a constant beat. He wraps his finger around the unknotted silk tie holding together her loose fitting black shirt with sheer determination.

 “Then let me ask again: is that all that you want tonight, Miss Lewis?” he pulls at the tie, letting the sides fall open to frame her breasts bound in the dark lace of her bra.

 Darcy’s eyes light up and her lips press together, trying to hold back a grin. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

“Patience is a virtue, and virtue is it’s own reward.” Phil smoothes his hands up the sides of her body, bunching the fabric of her shirt as he goes, the palms cupping her breasts.

 The best part of this may be that she’s amusing in a less than trifling way; skirting the edge of this type of propriety without being coy or saccharine about it. While her eyes are still closed, he unceremoniously pulls her shirt over her head, letting it stick just over her eyes and traps her in the fabric. Phil kisses her hotly, opening her lips and possessing her mouth before she reacts and turns it into an insistent series, holding her tight. He ends with a nip to her earlobe, and in his most collected and practiced voice says, “If all you want is a hard fuck, I could turn you over the bed and spread your legs and be done with you in short order.” Close to sharing the same space, he rolls his hips forward, brushing his hard cock against her thigh. “We both know that that is not what you want or need, Miss Lewis. Tell me.”

 Darcy strains against the fabric of her shirt, unable to move her arms much. He pushes off his suit jacket, and if watching her struggle in the silk looks good, she sounds even better when she answers, “Get me off, sir. Please. Make me come.”

 He had thought at first, that he might drag this out, make it last and let the memory be the solace in his mind while he works. But the thought of hard and fast appeals to a baser, efficient nature,   and he  thinks about time management and effective usage of resources and that they have a hotel room for an entire night, and makes his decision.

 He walks her backwards with her, her eyes shrouded, and there’s not an ounce of hesitance in her trust or any faltering steps. He leads with his mouth on hers until her calves are against the mattress. He pulls out a condom from his back pocket and lays it neatly on the comforter.

 Darcy starts to collapse against the bed but Phil catches her with an arm around her back before she can reach the sheets. It’s the undignified quiet moan she makes when he deftly turns her around that’s the sexiest thing he’s heard in a long time. He presses her with rough grace into the bed with his hand between her shoulder blades. He doesn’t need to rush this but he makes quick work of pushing up Darcy’s tight skirt, helping her out of her panties, taking note of where they landed. He cups her between her thighs, his fingertips teasing the top of her folds, and she breathes in and goes quiet.

 Phil slaps her ass, letting it sting. “Make noise. I want to hear what you like, Miss Lewis.” With the last slap he slides and caresses his hand back to her cunt, sliding a finger effortlessly inside of her. He listens to her steady stream of expletives and half-formed syllables as he continues to explore and chart his way as he reaches her clit. Phil murmurs how good she sounds, how wet she is for him as she turns her noises to happy, shuddering sobs that racket through her whole body as he keeps her on the threshold of coming. Even her loosely bound arms shake, rippling the fabric.

 “Stay down,” he says, dealing with his pants, his underwear, and the condom.

“Where would I go, sir?” Darcy laughs, catching her breath in the reprieve, and he gives a quick tap to her ass. It does nothing to stop the laughter.

 He presses inside of her and then hauls her up, the silk shirt slipping against his own, and he pulls and squeeze at her tits. They are heavy and perfect and react so beautifully to his roughness, spilling out of the bra and his hands. Darcy whimpers and squirms with his attentions. He lets her out of her makeshift blindfold, discarding the blouse to his side and pushes her down and grips her hips, digging in again.

 She wants a hard fuck, and that’s what Phil means to give her, bottoming out in her. “What a hot, pretty cunt you have,” he says evenly, at odds with his thrusts. Darcy had by no means gone quiet, but she shuts her mouth and listens to Phil has he starts to talk and lifts herself to her elbows. “So tight around my cock.” Her hair is wild and tangled, landing on her back, over her shoulders, and it sways in rhythm with them. “Stay up like this, I want to watch your tits.”

 He’s not going to be able to keep the pace she wants long. That’s okay; he think he can go for stamina and endurance later, if she lets him. Right now he wants to keep her noisy and pull her past the precipice before he explodes. He uses what he learned before, rubs her clit with heavy, slow strokes until she shakes again, and the sobs return echoing a refrain of, “please, please, please.”

 “That’s right, Darcy,” he says, losing the formality, “let it go.” And she doesn’t make any new sound, but her whole body ripples, and tightens around his cock when she comes and collapses. “Fuck,” he groans, falling fast into his own orgasm, spilling into her. He rest his chest on her back for a moment, laughing at the assortment of clothes they still have on.

 Darcy curls, breathing heavy, when he pulls away from her to toss the condom in a wastebasket and clean up. This too, he can do, and settles beside her on the bed, letting her rest against him.

 “More later?” Darcy says later, when she’s warm in every right place against him.

 Phil smiles, and kisses the top of her head. “Plenty more.” He’s not going to let everything he just learned go to waste.


End file.
